The Secret Life of Draco Malfoy
by Thranx
Summary: Everybody thought he's just the ordinary slimy bastard we all know and love: Draco's POV, 2nd year; includes: numerous flashbacks, Draco's coping in the Muggle world, father-son bonding; also, what exactly is Snape to Draco? (no slash) read and find out!
1. Seeker

(A/N: Ok, this is something new I've never tried before. The characters, plot, and some dialogue are taken directly from select scenes of Rowling's The Chamber of Secrets. This is the same story as Rowling's book, only told from Draco's point of view. I used to hate Draco, thinking he was a stupid, ugly git, but lately I've come to think there's more to him than meets the eye. It won't all be story though, there will be random flashbacks explaining Draco's life and what made him the happy bastard we all know and love today. Enjoy!)  
  
The Secret Life of Draco Malfoy  
  
Draco had been tense all year ever since his father had hinted that the population at Hogwarts would soon be refined. He had begged and begged but all he received was a lecture on the need to keep oneself out of the "dirty work" that someone else would complete for them. He won't actually kill anyone would he, Draco wondered. Draco had just sent off yet another letter to his father trying to extract hints from the secretive man, but instead received an early birthday present. Brooms!  
  
Nimbus Two-thousands and ones! Enough for the whole Quidditch team! There was no way Slytherin would loose this year - even with that dratted Harry Potter opposing them! Draco excitedly took the bulky package of brooms and ran down into the common room. It was mostly full of older students about to leave for breakfast, but he found another second year sitting across the room. "Hey Crabbe!" he called to the thick necked boy sitting by the fireplace. "Have you seen Flint?" Draco didn't even think twice about donating the brooms to the Quidditch team. He didn't know if that was what his father had in mind, but he'd rather ensure his house's victory than waste the brooms to play with among friends.  
  
"Yeah, he's down in the dungeons - the Quidditch team is having a meeting with Snape."  
  
Without another word Draco raced out of the common room and sped down the spiraling stone staircase which lead to the dungeons. It was early Saturday morning, but there was little hope of his falling back asleep now. A blast of damp, chilly air hit him as he entered the hallway which led to Snape's dungeon. Lots of students felt that the lower chambers of Hogwarts had a creepy feel about them, but Draco was quite at home in them. The air was vaguely reminiscent of the expanse of moor that surrounded the Malfoy manor, in whose hills he had roamed so thoroughly as a child. His quick steps were the only sound that echoed through the empty hall. He paused outside of Snape's door and knocked respectfully. A few seconds later, a large boy stuck his head out and glared at Draco. Draco gulped nervously. He had forgotten the name of the older boy, but he recognized him as the Beater for the Slytherin team, a cruel and ruthless player. Draco was suddenly scared. He was all alone down here with several very large older boys. He was a nothing here. He started to speak but the older boy cut him short. "You're Malfoy right?" Draco was too nervous to speak, but managed to nod. "Come in."  
  
Draco hesitantly followed as the older boy motioned him into Snape's office. It was empty, but they kept on walking, going through an open door on the other side of the room. It led to what appeared to be Snape's personal quarters. The entire Quidditch team was eating a very fancy breakfast that made Draco's mouth water as they sat around the chamber, legs flung over the armrest of the couch and comfortably sunk in the armchairs they sat in. Snape stood by the fireplace and turned to greet Draco warmly when he entered.  
  
"Draco, it is good to see you. I have just received a letter from your father. You have the brooms?"  
  
Wordlessly, Draco held up the bulky package he had brought with him, his thin arms barely encircling his width. Snape took them from his and laid them out on a long table next to the breakfast that was there. "You may take whatever you want," Snape offered, seeing Draco gaze longingly at the food before him. Draco thought he was too nervous to eat and would probably throw it up, but he took a serving of some of the more delicious looking dishes so as to not be rude.  
  
Flint, the team captain, and several other boys examined the brooms with interest. "See how the angle of the tail gives the optimal-", "Wow, that build is just perfect for-", "Came out barely a month ago-", "We'll win for sure-", "Fantastic-" the voices murmured around him. Draco wondered if he should start inching for the door. He didn't want to make a fool of himself, but Snape hadn't dismissed him yet.  
  
"Which broom would you prefer Draco?" Snape asked.   
  
"But sir - there's only seven - I thought the Quidditch team should have them-" he stuttered awkwardly.  
  
Several of the boys laughed. Draco could feel his ears burning. What was going on? "My dear boy, you are the Quidditch team," Snape said, throwing his arms around Draco's shoulders.  
  
"Whuh - you mean - I'm - I'm-"  
  
"We need a new Seeker this year, and have decided that you are most fitting for the job." Draco's eyes landed on the parchment that his father had sent Snape. Following his gaze, the man quickly snatched it away and folded it into his sleeve. Draco understood: the brooms were just a gimmick to get him on the team. Draco gritted his teeth. He wanted to protest, to demand a tryout where he could prove he was good enough without his father's help, but that would have been foolish. Instead he smiled widely and said, "I would be glad to offer my services to the Slytherin team!"  
  
Several of the boys smiled. Others tried to hide snickers, but no one said anything against Draco openly - where else were they going to get an entire team set of Nimbus Two-thousand and ones? Besides, everyone knew that Draco was likely to be the next Seeker anyway. Afterall, he was a Malfoy.  
  
Flint quickly introduced him around to the boys scattered throughout the room. They gave the younger boy a quick nod, although one or two actually bothered to shake his hand. "As I was saying before we introduced our new Seeker," Snape said, turning back to address the boys who sat with unconcerned looks on their face, "We are on a winning streak - I expect to see Slytherin's name on the Quidditch cup once again!"  
  
Several boys hooted and stuck their fists in the air like giant gorillas. Draco, who sat between two of the largest boys, felt very small and insignificant. Snape went on to assess each of the boys individually, offering his often biting and cruel analysis of their flying and playing abilities. When he arrived to Draco, he paused before continuing. "And there is Draco. He is extremely nimble and light on his broom, but he's not as swift as some of the other Seekers. To make matters worse, he is a rookie - he's never actually played a game. He needs lots of practice and in the beginning will probably require constant supervision." Draco sunk into his seat and tried to hide behind his plate still half full of breakfast.  
  
Finally Snape finished and retrieved a parchment and quill from his desk. "The Gryffindors have scheduled the Quidditch fields for today, but I will write you a note so that Draco can begin his training," he sneered, wincing at the mention of their enemy's team. The boys slowly got to their feet and began picking out their brooms. Draco selected the lightest one, as the heavier boys would definitely need the thicker brooms. Snape bid them farewell and they left with brooms in hand. Draco looked over his shoulder as he left to find Snape staring intensely at him with a calculating look on his face. Draco turned back to his new companions quickly and hurried out the door after them.   
  
Their longer legs covered more ground that Draco's and the younger boy quickly fell behind. The towering boys (who looked like men to him) in front of him talked amongst themselves, ignoring the second year who tagged along behind. By the time they reached the Quidditch fields, Draco was at the very back of the pack. No one had said a word to him the way there. He tried to crane his neck around the boys in front of him to see the Gryffindor's reaction. From what he heard of the conversation, they had given the Gryffindors Snape's note - they were now protesting, asking who this new Seeker was. As if parted by magic, a path opened through the older boys and Draco walked through proudly, holding his new broom highly for all to see. They were only Gryffindors - Draco was able to push aside his anxiety over his first Quidditch practice to face them with his usual confidence.  
  
"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" one of the Weasley twins asked. The nerve!, Draco thought. The grudge between the Malfoys and Weasleys was deep-seating; it emerged somewhere from Arthur and Lucius's schooldays and had passed down to their children.  
  
Flint took the opportunity, at the mention of the elder Malfoy to show them the new brooms the Slytherin team now possessed. Draco couldn't help smirking at the look of astonishment that covered the faces of the Gryffindors. Let's see how quickly your mouth drops open in the same fashion when you see me fly, Draco thought smugly. Draco let the older Slytherin talk. Flint continued to insult the Gryffindor's old brooms (some of them Cleansweeps! for Merlin's sake). Draco watched several others run over from the stands. It was Hermione, Ron, and that annoying little first year who had been following Harry around forever. Stupid Potter and his stupid fan club. Well he wasn't the only second year who was Seeker anymore.  
  
Ron eyed Draco's Slytherin Quidditch robes and demanded, "What's he doing here?"  
  
Draco stepped forward. He could handle this Weasley on his own. "I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley," Draco said smugly. "Everyone's been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team." Great, just had to mention father didn't you, Draco mentally chastised himself. He tried to change the subject from his newly bought broom to the Weasley's pathetically old brooms. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team can manage to raise enough gold to buy new brooms too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them." Draco smirked, quite pleased with himself; some of the older Slytherin boys guffawed at his wit.  
  
But then Hermione stepped forward and said, "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent." Damn her, damn her, damn her! How had she seen right through Draco's front? Wasn't it bad enough that she was better at him in _everything_, in every freakin' class they had together? No she had to insult his one chance at fame as a Seeker for the best Quidditch team at Hogwarts? She wasn't even from a wizarding family - she hadn't gone through the grueling training beforehand that Draco's father had made him do before he came to Hogwarts. All those long lectures and books and potions, every failure greeted by his father's shouting, "I won't have my own son be called an ignoramus! You call this a potion? Do it again!" Something snapped inside of Draco. If he had his wand on him he would have quickly used it, but he did not.  
  
He snarled stupidly, "No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood!" The entire Gryffindor team was in an uproar at his words. Too late he realized his mistake: Mudblood was a nasty word that he heard his father shout at home, but one he was told to never say in public. But it was too late to take it back now.  
  
Ron had his wand, however. He drew out the twisted and bent stick and shouted at Draco. Instead of being hit by magic Draco saw from under Flint's arm, who had jumped in front of Draco to protect him from being torn apart by Gryffindors, that the magic came out of the wrong end and hit Ron with a big *umph* in the stomach. Draco watched as Ron leaned over and vomited a large quantity of green slime and living slugs onto the grass of the Quidditch field.  
  
The entire Slytherin team was in hysterics as the Gryffindors crowded around their fallen friend. Draco fell to the ground on all fours, his face pressed against the grass, and laughed so hard that he couldn't breathe. Someone took Ron away, probably the other members of the dream team, and the Gryffindors left, grumbling under their breaths.  
  
"Let's get started team," Flint said, taking the lead as soon as the Mudblood lovers were gone. Flint, despite looking and acting like an overgrown gorilla, was a master tactician. He knew every person's weak spot and constantly exposed it to make them stronger. At one point he had the whole team watch Draco's dive. "You're too shaky; you need to hold your broom steadier or you'll waste time weaving back in forth instead of moving forward and the other Seekers will have an advantage over you," Flint said. "Did everyone else see this?" They all nodded. Draco had no idea being on the Quidditch team would be this much work - Flint worked them up to their very limits of endurance. No wonder the Slytherins on the team were so muscular. Draco felt he could barely walk by the time practice was over. He saw now why they had eaten such a large breakfast - they had practiced straight through lunch, taking breaks only to talk strategy with Flint.  
  
His muscles were tight and shaking with exhaustion, but he held his new broom up with pride as he entered Hogwarts. He was the new Seeker, and after today's practice he felt it was a position he had earned. 


	2. Mudbloods

(A/N: Hope the mixed up chronology isn't too confusing. I'll just expect it to be self-explanatory that I'm launching into a flashback if I start off by saying that Draco's a different age than the is in the second book)  
  
Mudbloods  
  
Draco was eight years old the first time his father had left him in the Muggle world. He had heard about these creatures called Muggles all his life, mostly from his father's tirades against their stupidity and incomprehensible way of life. By the time Draco was five, he already knew that Muggles were strange worm-like creatures who only stood in the way of magical Purebloods like himself. By the time Draco was six he knew that there were some wizards who believed that Muggles were actually conscious sentient beings who should be treated with the same dignity as magical persons, a view which was, as Draco's father so kindly pointed out, utterly ridiculous. By the time Draco was seven, he knew that Muggles did indeed serve a purpose: they were to be used by wizards like himself and then disposed of, like the boxes the chocolate frogs came in, chucked away without further thought. By the time Draco was eight, he knew that he believed all these things - or rather he'd better believe or there would be hell to pay in the Malfoy manor. So Draco believed, but he was never able to muster the cold hatred and disgust his father felt towards the Muggles. He hadn't even met any.  
  
Draco knew that something bad was going to happen that afternoon in early summer when his father stormed home in a foul temper. He was furious over some one he kept referring to as "that red-headed weasel bastard" and some law that had just gone into effect at the Ministry.  
  
"These morons want us all to live like common Mudbloods," his father spat, kicking over a wastebasket in his rage, spilling crumpled parchment and discarded bottles all over the hand woven rug. He strode by Draco but stopped suddenly to peer down into the small boy's face. "How would you like to live like a Mudblood?"  
  
"No sir!"  
  
His father grinned. "Why not?"  
  
Draco gulped. Why did he have to ask hard questions? "Because Muggles. . .because they aren't like us," Draco finished awkwardly.  
  
Lucius Malfoy grabbed his son's shirt and pulled him up off the floor. His menacing face was so close that Draco could smell his sour breath. "You don't believe me do you?" Draco's back was pressed against the wall, his feet dangling in the air. "You think the Mudbloods are just cute creatures that will go away and leave us alone if we ignore them? How wrong you are. Do you know how many Malfoys have been killed by those foul beasts? Magic doesn't help you an ounce when there's a knife sticking out your back." He searched his son's eyes and found no hatred mirrored there. "Very well - I shall have to educate my son." He dropped Draco as easily as he would have tossed away a napkin. "Your lessons will start tomorrow." Draco wanted to protest: Crabbe was coming over tomorrow to play. Draco's father rarely allowed any friends to visit so the few times they did come were cherished. But there was no arguing with the man when he was like this. His father paused as he was leaving to say, "And Draco? Do something about that hair by tomorrow morning. You look like you're some kind of midget pimp. I won't be laughed at because of you." He slammed the door behind him.  
  
Draco had no intention of doing anything with his hair. He liked it the way it was thank you very much. It had grown out longer and longer until it was now slightly past his shoulders. If any house elf had dared to approach him with the scissors he would throw a magical temper tantrum which would leave the room in total disarray and the small elf running for cover. His mother had tried to trick him into cutting it several times, but he was adamant - when she did manage to actually trim it he grew it back magically just as long as it had been before.   
  
Draco liked hair. He enjoyed braiding his mother's beautiful pale hair which cascaded softly down her back. Often she would let him climb up on the bed behind her and brush her golden trestles, even though the house elves usually took care of such things for her. She just made him promise to never tell his father. It was an unnecessary promise - even if he did his father wouldn't listen to anything he had to say.   
  
Draco liked to play with his own hair too. Once he braided it into small strands and arranged them on top of his head with some of his mother's barrettes. He had gone down to dinner like that, anticipating praise for his craftsmanship. He was jumping with excitement as he pushed open the heavy dark wooden doors to the dining room. He was practically skipping as he sprinted to the table with a smile on his face. Instead of finding his father in front of him there was a strange man with a hooked nose, dark eyes, and shoulder length black hair. It appeared there was company that night, and Draco's father did not look pleased at his boy's inventiveness. The stranger had smirked and chuckled softly while raising an eyebrow towards the elder Malfoy, who sat fuming at the other end of the table. Draco was ordered to his room without supper. While everyone else enjoyed their roasted duck and potatoes, Draco sat shivering in his room, dreading the punishment that awaited him. He wasn't disappointed: it was a week before Draco could sit on a chair without a pillow underneath him, and even then with considerable pain. From then on, Draco decorated his hair in private.  
  
The stranger came to be known to Draco as Uncle Severus, a man with no blood relation to the Malfoys, but family all the same. He later became Draco's potions professor at Hogwarts. He didn't hold Draco's behavior their first meeting against the boy though - if anything he seemed pleased that he had so considerably irked his father, unintentional as it was. Draco often itched to play with Uncle Severus's hair, too, but he didn't dare ask. Uncle Severus, rare visitor though he was, was Draco's favorite of his father's guests: he didn't ignore Draco like all the other men did. He had even come up to Draco's study to help him with a potion his father had ordered him to make. And he was considerably better than his father, as he never started shouting at Draco whenever he added the wrong ingredient or missed his target with charms or curse practice.  
  
If Uncle Severus could have long hair than so could he. When he went down for breakfast the next morning his father didn't say a word at his untouched hair. Draco dreaded what this "lesson" in Muggles would be, but he knew enough to guess that it wouldn't be pleasant. His fathers "lessons" often were brutal and emotionally draining. Draco was on his second piece of toast when his father started speaking. "Draco, did you know how baby birds are taught to fly?" He shook his head in answer. "They are pushed off the nest by their parents. As they fall they naturally learn how to manipulate the air flowing past them with their wings and go on to soar."  
  
Draco thought it sounded sadistically cruel. "But what if they don't learn to fly in time?"  
  
He immediately regretted the question. "Oh, they learn all right. They learn because they have no choice. Are you done?" Draco swallowed and jumped to his feet. "Wipe your mouth - you're making a mess! Eight years old and he still hasn't learned his table manners." The last sentence was directed to Draco's mother, who sat silently at the other end of the long table, eating strawberries and pointedly ignoring her husband.  
  
Draco followed his father out of the dining hall into an adjourning study, having to run for his small legs to keep up with his father's longer strides. Would he be that tall when he was older? He hoped so. His father pulled some clothes out of a trunk and shrank them down to Draco's size. Draco had never seen such clothes before. The pants were light blue and made of a thick, awkward material, not at all like the fine robes Draco was used to. The shirt was white and had some writing on the front, some Muggle brand name Draco supposed, and was made of a flimsy material that was as rough to touch as the pants. "These are Muggle clothes. Put them on son. I have business in the Muggle world today, and find it extremely useful to be able to travel in cognito. You will learn to find your way around the Muggle city without sticking out like a sore thumb." His father made a face, as if he doubted his son was up to the task. Draco dutifully pulled on the rough clothes. They felt too tight in some places and not enough in others. He had never worn such horrible clothes before. Did the Muggles really wear such disgusting things? No wonder his father said they were no better than animals. Once he was done he turned back to his father, who had also changed into a Muggle business suit. "Now I have to bind your powers."  
  
"Whu - you can't do that! I'll be defenseless!"  
  
"And you're just stupid enough to use them in front of Muggles too, aren't you? I want you to be able to rely on only your wit to pass for a Muggle - and it won't help if you start magically throwing things every time you get mad." He did have a point - Draco had a strong tendency to throw whatever was within ten feet of him whenever he became frustrated and angry, which was often. His father uttered something under his breath and Draco saw the magic flow out his father's wand and into his own body. He felt like he was being enclosed in a thin blanket. Then suddenly it was gone - but Draco felt a huge emptiness inside him where his magic should be.  
  
He freaked out. "I want it back! I want it back!" he started to shriek, but instead of throwing vases and chairs like he usually did the room was unnaturally still.  
  
His dad whacked him aside the head so that he fell sprawled onto the floor. "Shut up you little brat and listen carefully. We are going to floo to the Leaky Cauldron. As soon as we leave into the Muggle world, I'm going to cast a spell on the door so that you can't get back in. You are going to be on your own. We'll meet outside the Leaky Cauldron at precisely one o'clock in the afternoon."  
  
"But - why can't you go with me? What will I do about lunch?" His own father was going to cast him unprotected into the jungle?   
  
"Here is some Muggle money. You will figure out how to use it and buy yourself your own lunch." Draco looked down doubtfully at the strange coins and fragile paper money his father had given him. How was he going to manage? What if he got lost on the way? "Come on," his father commanded, stepping into the fireplace. They traveled to the Leaky Cauldron together. Draco considered making a run for Diagon alley, but his father held him firmly by his collar.   
  
The bright sunshine outside seemed unnaturally cruel that day. Draco had to shield his eyes from it's piercing glare. He heard his father mutter the charm to keep Draco out until the appointed time. Draco tried to plead with his father, but the man simply pried his son's hands off his newly pressed suit and disappeared into the swarming crowd around them. Draco felt like he had taken too much pain-relieving potion - everything around him seemed to swim. He was being pushed in every direction by the crowd of Muggles who walked constantly past. Huge metal beasts roared past, scaring Draco so that he whimpered every time one passed. He tried to shove his way past the adult walking by him and ended up stumbling when the ground suddenly dropped down several inches. He raised his arms and screamed as a metal beast headed straight for him. He closed his eyes tight and cowered in fear, waiting for the beast to tear him to shreds. Instead he heard a screeching sound and several shouts. He looked up to find that the beast had stopped - what's more, a man was emerging from inside it. There were Muggles controlling these beasts!   
  
"Hey kid!" the man yelled to him. "Wha'dyu think yer doin' in the middle of street? You wanna get run over? Hey kid!" Draco sprinted past all the gawking onlookers and into an alley. He ran out into another street. This time he realized that the beasts only stayed on the part where the ground dropped several inches. He walked among the Muggles as if he knew where he was going. He looked down at his watch. It was only nine o'clock. There were four hours to kill.  
  
He remembered hearing his father rage on about the "Weasleys," a vague entity that Draco knew only as "the enemy". He recalled a conversation his father had with Uncle Severus about a car "Weasley" had bought. Suddenly it clicked: these metal beasts were cars! Everything began to make sense now. He had walked down a quieter street that was full of flats, a residential area. It was easier to think clearly here. The cars that went past were used by the Muggles for transportation. Likewise, the swarm of Muggles was because they weren't able to apparate like his father or floo like himself - they had to tame the metal beasts and walk everywhere! Draco chuckled at how absurd the Muggle life must be.  
  
"What're ya laughing at, punk?" a deep voice said behind him. Draco turned to find several very large boys behind him, towering over him menacingly. Draco smirked - Crabbe and Goyle had tried to beat Draco up the first time the boys had been left alone together. But Draco had merely cursed the living be'jesus out of them and once the bigger boys could see straight again the three were friends for life.   
  
"Nothing that your primitive brain would be able to understand, Muggle," Draco responded.  
  
The three looked confused, but they moved closer anyway. "What did you just call him?" the one on the right asked him.  
  
"Look, I didn't bug you, so why don't we all go our own way and leave each other alone?" Draco could prove his point to his father. He never saw why the Muggles couldn't live their own life and the magical people live theirs. He started to walk away but was confronted by another smiling boy, this one the size of a baby hippopotamus. He was way older than Draco, almost ten by the size of him.   
  
"I thought we should all have a neighborly chat first," said the hippo, his thin blond hair plastered to his round head.  
  
"Come on Dudley, let's go have some fun." The first boy who had confronted Draco was addressing the hippo, who must be named Dudley. "Your cousin was no fun at all - he just ran away. Why'd you even have to bring him here in the first place?"  
  
"His babysitter couldn't take him today," Dudley replied. All four boys shuddered at the mention of the dreaded word: babysitter. Babysitters were for, well, babies. Surely men like themselves needed no such protection. The status of Dudley's cousin was immediately established among the boys. Draco started to inch away, but a boy behind him caught hold of his t-shirt.   
  
"Where do you think you're going?" he whispered in Draco's ear.  
  
"Let go of me you filthy little prat! My dad will kill you if you dare lay your hands on me. I cursed the last person who tried to harm me," Draco bragged.   
  
"Ooo?! So you're going to curse us now? Where's your magic wand and hat to pull the bunny out of? John, what do you think?"  
  
John smirked. "I think I saw a wand back there," he said, pointed to an alley. A deserted alley.  
  
Draco tried to get away, but they had his arm pinned behind him. "I'll make you wish you were never born," Draco howled.   
  
"Shut up!" John said. Draco suddenly slipped away but was tackled by one of the boys who felt like he weighed at least a ton. "Good job, Zeb."  
  
Zeb grabbed Draco by his long hair and continued to drag him further into the alley. He threw Draco down in the middle and said, "Well, come on, show us your wand, little boy."  
  
The forth boy snorted and said, "Look at his pretty long hair - I don't think this one's got a wand."  
  
"Right you are Alvin," said John. "Let's see if he had a wand or not."   
  
"I curse you!" Draco shouted, throwing his hands out, expecting to feel the warm tingle of magic flow down his arms and towards his tormentors. Nothing happened. The four boys started laughing at him.  
  
"John, Alvin, why don't you hold down the little fairy princess and make sure he doesn't fly away. Zeb, why don't you go get some scissors and we'll give the poor boy a haircut?" Dudley ordered. John and Alvin grabbed an arm each. Draco was scared - he'd never had this happen before. Sure his dad had whipped him good before, but this? How dare these Muggles continue to insult a Malfoy!  
  
Dudley threw the first punch right into Draco's stomach. He gasped in shock and whimpered. It hurt. Suddenly Dudley's fist were coming from every direction. Draco let go of what dignity he had left and started howling and sobbing. "Let go, let go, let go!" he cried.  
  
"Not until you say uncle," commanded Dudley.  
  
"Uncle, uncle!" Draco cried.  
  
Dudley considered him. "That was no fun." He continued to throw his fists into Draco's stomach and chest as if he were a punching bag.  
  
"But you said-"  
  
"I lied. What're ya gonna do, sue me?" The other boys chuckled.  
  
Zeb came back holding the scissors high. Draco saw the boy bring the scissors closer and closer to his head. He couldn't move an inch with John and Alvin holding his arms so tightly. He didn't want to watch: he closed his eyes and listened instead to his tormentors peals of laughter. When it was over, Zeb held up a mirror in front of Draco's nose. His hair was ruined! They had cut it purposely uneven, at one place so close to his skull that there was barely any hair there and one inch over to his shoulders, an inch further only to his ear. Draco cried.  
  
"Oh, is the little baby crying for his mama?" John said, shoving him down to the ground.  
  
"My daddy will curse you filthy Mudbloods!" Draco howled, trying to cover his horrible head with his arms.  
  
"Your daddy? The little princess has a daddy? A queen of the fairies? Is he as cute as his little baby?" Zeb sneered.  
  
"Does he have a wand, too?" Alvin said nastily.  
  
"How could he have one if his little girl doesn't?" said John. "Or do you?" Before Draco could respond they had all jumped on him and were ripping off his pants. They held them up in front of him.   
  
"We're just going to borrow these for a few minutes," said Dudley. "I'm sure you understand. You wouldn't want a poor starving child like me to be cold now would you?" Starving? That hippo? And cold? In the middle of summer?  
  
"Let's get the rest," said Alvin, pulling at Draco's t-shirt. Draco tried to run away, but they held him tight. He couldn't go back to the Leaky Cauldron in his underwear - the humiliation would be unbearable.  
  
"Stop it," a cold voice said behind them.  
  
"Oh, Dudley, look! Yer cousin wants to join in the fun!" John laughed.  
  
Standing in the entrance to the alley was a boy who was even smaller and scrawnier than Draco. His clothes were several hundred sizes too large for him, and his glasses were taped and cracked many times over. Run away, Draco want to shout. What good would this squirt do, besides getting himself beat up too? But the boy advanced on the four boys without fear - Draco saw only anger in his green eyes. "Give them back," the boy said, motioning to Draco's pants, which Alvin had started to rip apart.   
  
"And why would I do that?" Alvin smirked. Suddenly a gold light flew out of the small boy's hands and pushed the four boys back several feet. "What the-?" Before they could respond, the light came again, this time throwing them to the ground.   
  
They climbed to their feet and scampered down to the other end of the alley. "I'm telling daddy!" Dudley yelled over his shoulder as they left.  
  
"Are you okay?" the small boy asked Draco, starting towards him. Draco was too embarrassed. He had just been saved by this little kid who didn't even know how to comb his black hair properly. He grabbed his pants and shoved them on as he ran past the kid and back into the street. He ran all the way back to the Leaky Cauldron. He stopped once to attempt to buy some food, but found his money had been taken out of his pockets.  
  
His father took one look at Draco's tear stained face, his bloody t-shirt, his torn jeans, his blackened eyes, and grabbed Draco by the ear to drag him into the tavern's fire place. "You good for nothing-" he muttered under his breath. "Why can't you do anything right?" he shouted at Draco once they were home. Draco tried not to cry, but the tears kept on creeping out. "Whimpering like a little baby?!" His father hit him across the cheek. "I'll give you something to cry about!"  
  
"Please don't send me back there daddy!" Draco begged.  
  
"You'll go back there, all right," his father promised. "You'll go back there again and again and again until you get it right! No son of mine is going to be taken advantage of. You'll learn or else -" He grabbed Draco what was left of his hair and threw him against the chair. "Bend over!"  
  
"No daddy, please!"  
  
His father's eyes were murderous. "Do it!" Draco shrank down closer to the floor, but managed to stand, leaning against the armchair to lean over. He knew he was going to get a spanking like he'd never gotten before. He wasn't disappointed.  
  
He went to bed without supper that night. After sleeping on his side for a week he came to dread and hate the word Muggle.  
  
************  
  
(A/N: So now Draco hates Muggles because they're mean to him - and because he's a bigot. Double hatred! Btw, just for the record, I don't think that having an asshole for a father is any excuse for being an asshole yourself. But it makes an interesting story. . .I hope. . .) 


End file.
